


tastes as bad as you'd imagine (but you can make it all better, if you try)

by Hazazel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Break Up, References to Addiction, Slow Burn, on temporary hiatus but i promise i'll get to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazazel/pseuds/Hazazel
Summary: Kentarou sits there, under the street light, and he drinks his beer slowly.Well, it has beer in it. The rest of it is a mix of vodka and probably rum. It tastes as bad as you’d imagine. He wants to scream but he’s standing right beneath someone’s window - and he knows that someone. The address is one he knows by heart, but he’s lost his phone somewhere between his third beer and whatever that sweet-tasting drink was. There isn’t a single reason he’d spend his last coins on a phone booth for a number that, strangely enough, he also knows by heart, but doesn’t remember who it belongs to.-Kyoutani has lost Yahaba's love long ago - or so he thinks. In the dark, hands reach for light, and their paths cross again... He just has to avoid making the same mistakes
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: SportsFest 2020





	tastes as bad as you'd imagine (but you can make it all better, if you try)

**Author's Note:**

> for sportsfest originally, but i'm turning this into a multichap because why not, i like the idea ! hope you'll like it

Kentarou sits there, under the street light, and he drinks his beer slowly.

Well, it has beer in it. The rest of it is a mix of vodka and  _ probably  _ rum. It tastes as bad as you’d imagine. He wants to scream, cause a scene, talk to fucking Tamaki or - or - he doesn’t know, but he’s standing right beneath someone’s window - and he knows that person. The address is one he remembers like he learned it yesterday, which can’t be right because he doesn’t have any place to call home - but he’s lost his phone somewhere between his third beer and whatever that sweet-tasting drink was, so he can’t really call anyone to get a ride to… somewhere he can sleep. There isn’t a single reason he’d spend his last coins on a phone booth for a call to a number that, strangely enough, he also knows by heart but doesn’t remember who it belongs to.

Another swing of the not-exactly-beer makes him retch. He can hear the echo of police sirens and he prays they won’t arrest him for jaywalking, but thankfully the car passes by him without noticing that he added a new stain on the wall of the side alley he hid in. Struggling to catch his breath, Kentarou dry heaves a couple times before the window opens.

“Shit. Ken- Kyoutani. What are you doing here ?”

“The fuck, how d'you know my name ?” he mumbles without looking up. He’s not keen on being recognised in a part of town that he dimly remembers as being well over what he could afford - while he still worked his desk job, that is. He hasn’t been here in ages. There’s a reason for that but he can’t remember, and he’s startled out of his thoughts by that familiar voice piercing through the veil of drunkenness again.

“You’re more wrecked than I thought, then. Jeez, you have the strongest stomach out of everyone I know except myself, how’d’you get like this ?”

This makes Kentarou look up at last. Yahaba fucking Shigeru is leaning over the windowsill and looking at him with furrowed brows. He’s as beautiful as Kentarou remembers, hair that was going grey already, although the years have lent him some wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. That’s why he knows this address, this number. You never forget the first person who dumped you. You never forget the last person you loved before you let everything go to waste.

“I’ll open the door,” Yahaba sighs at last, “I’m on-”

“Third floor, left door.”

“You remember.”

“Of course, you fucking dumbass. I used to live here.”

Kentarou did live here, a few years ago. Before the alcohol, before Tamaki, before he became a mess. Before he ruined it all and Yahaba, beautiful, fierce, enraged Yahaba, couldn’t take it anymore. Kentarou has never regretted something so much, except perhaps coming here tonight. The building still has the same code, the same small elevator, the same scratches from when Kita was still-

He can’t do this. He can’t walk there knowing the way he last left this place.

He walks to Yahaba’s flat nonetheless and doesn’t even have to knock on the door before it opens. 

“Kyou, what are you doing here ?” From up close, Yahaba looks old and tired. The wrinkles aren’t just around his eyes, they map his face harshly under the bleak light of the corridor. His skin looks sallow, his eyes are circled with black - and it’s not make-up. “Come in. I must still have shirts you fit into.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Kentarou mutters. “Just let me go like you did last time.”

“Please. You left,” Yahaba retorts. And then, lower, not meant for Kentarou's ears - “I’ve always regretted not calling you back.”

“Really ?” Kentarou can’t help the sarcasm that seeps into his words. “Didn’t seem like it.” He immediately regrets saying that but thankfully Yahaba doesn’t react other than to lead him into the kitchen and hand him some water.

It’s the mug with a picture of Kita, Kentarou’s dog. She passed away about three years into their relationship and Yahaba was hit hard, since he’d never had any pets before. The fact that he still has that mug - something in him breaks, and Kentarou feels tears roll down his cheeks, one after the other, until he’s sobbing silently, slumped over the kitchen counter. 

Yahaba comes back - he hadn’t even noticed he’d left - with a clean set of pyjamas and a toothbrush. “The bathroom is all yours. Just wait a second for the tub to fill.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Kentarou repeats. 

“I want to.” Silence drapes over them for a few minutes, a thousand aborted sentences on Kentarou’s lips before Yahaba speaks again. "Bath should be ready. I’m reheating curry for you, and then I'll prepare the couch.”

Kentarou nods and walks to the bathroom without a word. His clothes stink, there’s some vomit on his shoes. The man in the mirror doesn’t look like him, or rather, he shouldn’t look like that man. Kentarou grits his teeth and looks away.

He is quick, not daring to stay long in case he falls asleep - his eyelids weigh a ton each and he’s about to pass out. He wolfs down the curry in silence and settles on the couch with the spare blanket - the pink one, with the little bees. God, he loved this blanket, and it makes his heart ache that Yahaba remembers, but then again that might just be wishful thinking. He pretends to fall asleep, not answering Yahaba when he softly calls Kentarou’s name. After he’s done cleaning up the kitchen, he sits down next to Kentarou on the couch, careful not to disturb him.

It takes him a few minutes to realise Yahaba is crying. His hand is clenched in the blanket, inches away from Kentarou’s own, and he can barely quiet down his tears. “I’m sorry,” he keeps repeating. “Fuck, Ken, I’m so sorry. I should have helped. I should have - I should have done more. I'm so sorry...” 

Kentarou falls asleep to this bitter lullaby. Just before he drifts out of consciousness, he promises himself that he won’t make the same mistakes again.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written what's next, so please be patient with me ! comments and kudos always help


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